


if this is nowhere, then let us be nowhere

by poquito (manta)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood Friends, First Meetings, M/M, Slice of Life, but kuroken are the main ones, other characters will show up, tags and rating subject to change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:53:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/poquito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simply, musings on the ways Kuroo and Kenma say, "I love you." </p><p>EDIT: Fic on indefinite hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. as a hello

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying the 'the way you said "i love you"' prompts over [here](http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745). except instead of trying some, i'm trying all of them. this is a mini-project for me to practice more kurokens, and re-examine my writing and perceptions of their dynamic. 
> 
> rules i'm setting for meself. prompts:  
> 1) don't have to be daily posts  
> 2) should be pairing centric  
> 3) do not have to explicitly include the words "i love you", and  
> 4) the love does not have to be romantic in nature
> 
> this fic was started out of self-interest, but i'll be flipping happy if people enjoy it too :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fic title from pearl and the beard's "river".

Caught in a standoff with golden eyes that match his own, Tetsurou supposes he only has himself to blame.

His neighborhood friends are all gone, on trips in far away places with their parents. Tetsurou would have gone exploring too, if his father hadn't had a architecture project that left his mother in the house all day with their stir-crazy son. And all the while the sky beckoned with crooked fingers made of feather clouds and pulsing summer, luring Tetsurou outdoors.

Really, what else should a bored seven-year-old with a brand new volleyball have done?

 _(Anything_ else, his exasperated mother would have said.)

But according to Tetsurou, everyone was only fortunate he was considerate enough not to stay inside.

Well, maybe not everyone. The unfamiliar child returning Tetsurou's gaze now looks like he's seen a ghost, on his knees with his game console clutched in his hands like a shield, chin length black hair swinging forward as if in self-defense.

"Hey, I'm Kuroo Tetsurou. I live next door," Tetsurou says, because now's as good a time as any for introductions. "Uh, sorry about dropping by," and he gestures to himself, volleyball tucked under an arm, casually trespassing in the boy's small backyard. "I was spiking, see, and the ball flew over."

The boy continues staring, and he somehow manages to shrink even further in upon himself. "Kenma! Come meet our neighbors!" Kozume-san had called, and sighed when there was no answer. "Sorry, he's very shy. But thank you for saying hello."

 _No kidding about shy_ , thinks Tetsurou. He tries, "Ever seen a spike?"

A pause, and Kenma infinitesimally moves his head from side to side.

Encouraged, Tetsurou throws the ball up in the air. He leaps, pleased his long limbs make a more impressive show. "It's like- THIS!" And he sends the ball zooming back to the ground, Kenma's wide eyes taking everything in, observing. "Cool, huh?"

Kenma's brows knit together. "I've seen volleyball matches. That's not how they play on TV."

"Well, yeah! I need someone to toss to me." As Tetsurou retrieves the ball, now covered with an additional layer of dirt, an idea occurs to him. "Y'know, me and some other kids play together. We wanna make a team, but we need a setter. How about it? Beginners welcome."

He doesn't know if Kenma will be any good (up in the air, at this point). Given Kenma's pale skin and how inseparable he and his console are, the chances aren't great. But the chances are zilch otherwise; everyone else is primarily interested in spiking, and Tetsurou thinks himself a most pragmaticperson.

As expected, Kenma's already shrinking away. "I'm busy..."

"With what?"

"... Stuff."

Tetsurou knows an evasive answer when he hears one. "Like what?"

Endless conversations, from the cicadas. Silence, from Kenma.

Tetsurou presses on anyway. "You're a year younger than me. What do you have to do that's so important?"

This time, Kenma's response is a glare. He's clearly not used to his choices being second guessed. " _Stuff_ ," he repeats, obstinately.

"One practice. Just one!" Tetsurou holds a finger up, and Kenma looks at it without much enthusiasm. "Then you can go back to your _stuff._ Or maybe..." and he trails off to create more suspense, "I can offer you another deal." _Another_ sounds more agreeable than _better_ , Tetsurou decides.

"What deal?" Kenma takes the bait, but looks up with squinted eyes.

"Two weeks of practice. Two weeks, then I'll trade my Gastly for your Abra." Tetsurou doesn't need to mention the _Pokemon Sapphire_ cartridge case, lying in plain sight on the table next to where Kenma's curled up. "It's more satisfying when you complete your Pokedex, right?"

Kenma considers this, chewing on his lip. "Do I have to... play volleyball?"

"Yup."

Kenma frowns in distaste. "This is annoying."

And Tetsurou throws his head back to laugh at that. The sun skims the rooftops and the first half of the fence that divides the Kozume and Kuroo residences. The light's steady coming fills Tetsurou with slow warmth, and Kenma watches him, startled again.

"Let's shake on it," Tetsurou says, like he's seen dark-suited men do in movies.

"You're strange."

Tetsurou shrugs. "Aren't we all?" And after he reaches forward to clasp Kenma's sweaty hand, he backs toward the fence. "I'll be at your front door tomorrow morning," he says. "You'd better be there this time!" With one foot already hooked on the fence, he steals one last back glance before catapulting himself over.

"Bye, Kenma!"

"Bye." He hears Kenma sigh, resigned.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks pass by, unexpectedly fast in a firefly's blink.

Kenma attends all of the practices. It's not all smooth sailing; sometimes he arrives in a storm of a mood, mostly from Tetsurou yanking open his curtains with a brisk, "Time for practice!" But gracefully or not, he always shows up, and that's what matters.

For a kid who tries to draw as little attention to himself as possible, Kenma's already gained plenty of admiration from the others. He fidgets at small talk, but a "Hey Kenma, check out my Pikachu!" or a "Please, Kenma! Just one toss!" is easy enough to acquiesce. And his tosses: precise. Like his presence, they're initially unfussy, unimpressive, unless one looks a little closer.

And Tetsurou reminds the others to look.

True to his word, he's back at the Kozume house with his GameBoy Advance. Kenma immediately sits down on the couch to nickname the Gastly he's been gifted.

"See you tomorrow?" Tetsurou asks, watching Kenma input the characters: _Ku-ro_. "Spiking practice. You should come."

"You're not a wing spiker," Kenma says, suddenly.

"What d'ya mean?" Kenma transfers his Abra over, and Tetsurou makes a mental note to nickname it later.

"You like poking people. Sometimes at bits they don't want you to see."

"Thanks?"

Kenma ignores him. "You like slamming the ball down most of all. If you're a blocker, you can still spike."

"Look who's already learned so much about volleyball in two weeks," Tetsurou teases. When Kenma doesn't reply, he grows serious. "Let's say I block. Don't you want to stick around to see if you're right? What if I don't do what you say? "

"Then you're an idiot." Kenma idly pushes another button, and _Kuro_ moves to the head of his party. His trainer sprite heads out of the city to where the wild grass grows, teeming with chances.

"I'll be at your front door tomorrow morning." It's another relentlessly hot day, but the sky is a piercing blue and Tetsurou lets himself out with a spring in his step. _Their team is truly a team! They have a setter! A setter named Kozume Kenma, who lives next door!_ It's the prospects that make him throw all caution to the nonexistent wind. He calls inside with a surge of reckless abandon. "I'll be there. And I'll be there the morning after that, and the morning after _that_!"

Kenma's face appears over the back of the great white couch. He huffs. "You come over too early already, so just come earlier for breakfast." 

 

* * *

 

"I used to jump this."

Besides shifting in his seat on the hard-backed chair, Kenma gives no other indication he heard.

Tetsurou walks to the subject at hand, lightly runs his palm along the rough concrete. "Now I can _see_ over it if I jump."

Determining that Tetsurou's not letting this go, Kenma puts his phone down. "I had all the versions, you know," he says. "Ruby, Sapphire, _a_ _nd_ Emerald. And I'd just completed the Pokedex for the fifth time."

Tetsurou chuckles. "I should have realized that. Why'd you agree to play, then?"

Kenma shrugs. "Curiosity, I guess. Two weeks of volleyball was awful, but not impossible." He stretches, and moves his face closer to the fan; his lashes flutter in the artificial breeze. "I didn't expect someone to look at me and think, 'I want him on my team.' A _ga_ _ming_ team, maybe, but never for a sport."

Tetsurou considers his reply options. Something suave ("I wanted you from the moment I saw you,"), something encouraging ("You already showed your potential,"), or something epic ("Only you could save us, Kenma~")- all to see what face Kenma pulls from his arsenal of expressions. 

But then again, this is the neighbor with game data in his hands and Tetsurou data in his head. So Tetsurou simply says, "I needed someone," and Kenma nods.

"You were noisy," he says. "I was minding my own business when you crashed in."

Time is made indistinct in the humid air. Tetsurou grins. "Rude. I cleared that fence like a champ."

 


	2. with a hoarse voice, under the blankets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroo falls ill, Kenma does what he can.

 

Kenma’s the one who complains about the heat and the cold, Kenma the one sensitive to any and all changes in the weather, Kenma wrapped in an extra thick scarf, Kenma who flees at any hint of heat. And according to Kuro, it’s Kenma who has the worse case of hay fever he’s ever seen.

Yet it’s Kenma who spares a glance in the direction of Kuro’s house, Kenma who makes his way alone among strangers in the morning rush, Kenma who shuffles to his classroom alone today.

“Mordidg, Kedba.” Kuro’s voice clicks on the line nasal and hoarse, followed by a dry, deep cough.

“You sound terrible.”

“I’m switchig betweed fevers and chills. Is this what it’s like to be you?”

Kenma won’t even acknowledge that remark with an answer. “You have medicine, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna make it. I see a... golden light. Hear some harps, maybe some angels singing. You’ll have to... go od without me...” Kuro makes a choked gurgle, and Kenma rolls his eyes. “Tell Okaa-chan I love her.”

“Tell her yourself. Didn’t she take you to the doctor this morning?”

Kuro continues as if he hadn’t heard. “And I gotta confess…. whed I kissed your collarbone and you _moaned_? I thought about it for days _._ ” He sighs. “Too bad I won’t get to hear it one more time before I waste away.”

Kenma almost groans into the phone. But his teacher enters the room, shooting him a meaningful look. “Bye,” he says, and hastily hangs up.

 

* * *

 

On his way home, Kenma spots the couples walking home and in the trains, who kiss and embrace without a care in the world. He sees other relationships, and he thinks about theirs; to outsiders, it’s Kuro’s arm resting around his shoulders, Kuro seeking him out in between classes, Kuro waiting with his long legs crossed outside Kenma’s classroom at the end of the day. Kenma is not the most overtly affectionate of boyfriends, and Kuro could use some extra attention.

But that doesn’t mean Kenma has to catch whatever Kuro has in a plague of infatuation, either. He makes sure he’s prepared - white face mask a bottle of hand sanitizer, an ice pack wrapped in a cloth - before heading over to the Kuroo residence. Kuroo-san greets him with her usual cheer and points him upstairs along with a thermos, which Kenma interprets to mean that Kuro is not in mortal peril.

“Yaku says he’ll scan his notes and call you tonight to tell you what you missed,” Kenma says, from where he’s propped on the chair next to the bed. He doesn’t understand the urgency; a missed day of school means nothing to him. But for all of Kuro’s insistences he studies just so he doesn’t lose to Yaku, Kenma suspects Kuro enjoys the challenge.

“Thaks,” Kuro says thickly, and interrupts himself to blow his nose. Literature texts and volleyball manuals are strewn about, his congested voice further muffled by the black mask over his mouth and nose.

Kenma watches the used tissue sail into the wastebasket in a perfect arc. “You don’t even study that hard.”

“I pay attention in class so I dod’t have to.” Kuro breathes in and out, a rattling and turbulent sound. He rests against the headboard, hands behind his head, and the look he shoots Kenma is hazy. “Sorry I cad’t tutor you today.”

Kenma can’t say their tutoring sessions are _all_ bad. Kuro likes bargaining kisses for answers; not merely _correct_ ones, because Kenma can produce those just fine, but multi-step ones involving effort. And while Aizawa-sensei’s a concise explainer, Kenma’s found more motivation to memorize his Hundred Poems when the hungry glint in Kuro’s eye means Kenma’s next reward has a chance of including Kuro’s tongue in his mouth, Kuro’s fingers slipping under his shirt. But Kenma merely says, “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“God, I cad’t _breathe_.” Kuro peels off his mask, not even having the heart to do it with a flourish. He drapes one long arm over the bed to drop the mask on the floor. “I want _okayu_. Feed be?”

Kenma’s unmoved. “Are you six years old?”

“ _Kedba_. I’m practically on my deathbed here.”

Kenma reaches for the thermos with a sigh. He unscrews the lid, using it as a cup to catch the steaming congee. “Sit up, then.”

“You know,” says Kuro, doing so, “I coud use a cuddle.”

“Not a chance.” If there’s anything Kenma hates more than being too hot or too cold, it’s being sick.

Kuro shrugs, and accepts the thermos cup and foldable spoon. His hands are clammy. “Well, it was worth a try.”

“Where’s your medicine?”

“Next to the pillow. For after meals.”

Once Kuro’s eaten his fill and taken his medicine, Kenma places the thermos on the desk. Kuro’s eyes have glazed over; Kenma gently presses him onto his back, smoothing out the dark blue comforter.

Kuro’s smile is quiet, but unmistakable. “You’re the best.”

Kenma places a hand to Kuro’s burning forehead, though not without first pushing back the bedhead with only a fraction of its usual presence. He removes his mask (briefly) to kiss the hot skin there, pulling a face as he puts down the ice pack. “And you’re all sweaty.”

“And you kissed be adyway. Aw, true lub.” Kuro’s grin only shines with a hint of its usual devilishness.

Kenma settles back on his chair, and draws his knees up. “You’re ridiculous when you’re sick. Get well already.”

“I’m gettig better just looking at you.”

“ _Kuro_.” Kenma finally releases the groan he’s held in all day, but concedes, “I missed you.”

“Workig hard in my absence, huh?”

“Mm hm.”

Not just because Kai, interim captain, used his smile (in a way, so much deadlier than Kuro’s) to convince everyone they didn’t _really_ need that second practice break, did they? Or that in their captain’s absence, Yaku became even more stringent about the quality of everyone’s receives. Or that Lev, who typically peppered Kuro with questions on blocking, pestered Kenma instead.

“I’ll be back soon enough.” Kuro grins, his exaggerated flush making his words soft and his smile even softer, and Kenma clamps his mouth shut to bite back the _Fine, I’ll take you up on that cuddle_. “In the meantime, dod’t stay away from everyone else, okay?”

“I know.” And with that, the conversation settles.

Kenma texts Shouyou to ask if his practice was as gruelling as Kenma’s was. He refuses Inuoka’s first invitation over LINE for a basketball game that weekend, and accepts the second to watch the new superhero movie with the first years. He sends an invitation of his own to the other second years, to brave the busy subway stations tomorrow for the sake of Pokemon Go. Tora will talk too much and loudly and make Kenma forget the stifling crowds, while Shouhei will say nothing at all except the occasional laugh and follow up the rear, dependable and opaque. They're not Kuro, but they'll make it fun.

All the while, Kuro’s breath slows and evens out into a noise that bleeds with the whir of the humidifier. Accompanied by the unobtrusive hum of circulating air, Kenma finishes his homework, only the assignments that absolutely need doing. He runs his fingers along Kuro’s bookshelf, stuffed to the brim with titles.

When Kenma next looks up, the second years have replied (a " _HELL YEAH!!!!"_ from Tora and a “ _(=ↀωↀ=)✧_ ” from Shouhei), and the sun has long faded.

He switches the humidifier off, stacks the books on the desk, takes the thermos, and turns the blue ice pack on Kuro’s forehead over. Kuro’s chest rises and falls in long, steady breaths; his mouth, usually ready with a quip, now slackened with sleep and fatigue.

Kenma stands. His mother will call him soon, to announce dinner is ready. It’s strange to leave this room without Kuro when they usually eat together. But leaving Kuro is all right for now, before the cherry blossom petals hurtle downward into the river and March arrives with time’s relentless drive.

“See you, Kuro,” Kenma murmurs to the unconscious form on the bed, and closes the door without a sound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun making Kuroo's sick voice much stuffier before I realized he was incomprehensible xD And Pokemon Go juuuust came out, but I'm living vicariously through everyone and everything BECAUSE I CAN'T PLAY IT YET
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beneathelm), for a little of Kuroken and a lot of nonsensical!


End file.
